Disembodied
by Amicitia Revenant
Summary: In which everyone tries to come to grips with what just happened. IDW-verse: Follows from #45 but mostly disregards the FCBD issue.
1. Donatello version 1,1

Don had just realized that he was looking at Harold literally over his own dead body, when the scientist moved. The next thing Don knew, Harold was in his face, peering closely at him.

"Don, are you all right?"

"I think I just died and got reincarnated as a robot," Don said, trying to remain deadpan despite his mounting panic. "That's two reincarnations for a guy who doesn't even believe in the concept. Give me a minute to -"

Instead of giving him a minute, Harold held up a hand in front of Don's eyes. "Donatello? Can you hear me?"

"Yes, of course I can -" Don would have drawn a breath as another horrible realization clicked into place, but the part of his brain that was cataloguing everything wrong with this situation had just added "robots don't breathe" to the list.

Harold looked up, over Don's shoulder. "Honeycutt, what's happened? He's not responding."

"I am not certain," Professor Honeycutt replied, as Don struggled to turn and look at him. "Perhaps now would be an opportune time to speak with his family."

Don could do nothing as Honeycutt walked to the door, leaving him alone with Harold, whose expression was more fearful than Don had ever seen on him.

* * *

Mike jumped up as soon as the door of the cooling unit opened. "Is Donnie awake?" he asked, as Professor Honeycutt carefully closed the door behind himself. "Can we see him?"

"We think so," Honeycutt replied, "and yes, in a moment."

"You _think_ so?" Raph growled. "Is he or isn't he?"

Honeycutt held up a placating hand. "I apologize for my haste earlier. Allow me to explain what has happened."

Leo crossed his arms, listening, as the professor continued. "Donatello's body is nonviable - that is, it is no longer capable of sustaining its own life processes. But his mind, we believe, is still functioning. The opposite of a vegetative state, if you will."

"So…?" Mike prompted nervously.

"So," Honeycutt went on, "with the aid of some technology I recovered from Burnow Island, we were able to transfer his consciousness into a new host. We believe he has successfully transitioned into the robot known as Metalhead, but -"

"Wait just a second," Raph interrupted, balling his fists. "You put my brother's brain in a robot?"

It was hard to tell whether the expression on Honeycutt's face was cold. "Would you prefer his brain remain in a dying body?"

Leo put a steadying hand on Raph's shoulder. "Go on, Professor. But what?"

"But he remains nonresponsive," Honeycutt finished. "We are not sure why."

"But we can see him?" Mike asked in a small voice.

Honeycutt nodded. "I must warn you, his current condition will not be easy to see."

"We don't care," Leo replied, and Honeycutt turned to lead them into the room.

* * *

Donatello had learned a host of details he hadn't really wanted to know about Harold's face, thanks to Metalhead's enhanced optical sensors, when finally the scientist moved.

One by one, his brothers knelt in his field of view. They were already feeling the cold, he could tell - from the little puffs of vapor that issued from Harold's mouth with each breath, he knew the room was below freezing.

"Don?" Leo asked. "Are you in there?"

"I'm here," Don tried to say. Nothing came out of Metalhead's voice synthesizer. "Help me."

Leo exchanged glances with the others - Raph furious, Mike on the edge of tears. "He needs Master Splinter."

* * *

"So go get him," Raph said. He was not leaving this room until Donatello was fixed, even though half of him had wanted to run as soon as he set foot inside. He would have described the scene in the cooling unit as a nightmare, but even in his dreams he had never seen anything as gutwrenching as this. His eyes had gone automatically to Don's body, lifeless on a table, with some kind of horrible clawed contraption gripping his head. He had barely begun to process that image when his gaze followed the electrical cord from Don to the motionless robot on the floor. On pure reflex he had knelt beside his other brothers, his mind completely fogged by rage. He was going to murder everyone who had anything to do with this.

But not until Don was all right.

"We can't stay here," Leo said quietly. "It's too cold."

"So turn up the heat."

"We can't do that," Harold said. "And we can't move Donatello either, so don't suggest it. His body needs to be kept in stasis, and connected to Metalhead, until we know what his status is."

"I don't - " Raph started, but Mike interrupted him.

"Raph, let's all go get Sensei," he said, making only a passing effort to keep the trembling out of his voice. "Staying here doesn't help anything. I don't think." He tilted his gaze towards Metalhead. "We're gonna take care of you, bro. Hang in there."

Stiffly, he got to his feet. Leo followed, and, after clenching his fists and admitting that there was nothing to punch, so did Raph.

* * *

"God, it's cold," Harold muttered, after everyone else left the room.

"I will stay with him. I do not mind the cold."

Harold jumped, and Don probably would have too, if he could. "Oh, Alopex. I didn't see you there."

The arctic fox padded across the room to crouch next to the scientist. "Go and warm up."

Harold started to stand, then hesitated. "Hey, aren't you one of those on-and-off friends that the Turtles don't really trust? Maybe I shouldn't leave you alone with Donatello. His brothers are angry enough at me already."

"Then stay," Alopex replied, settling herself on the tiled floor. "Splinter will be here in a moment, and then Donatello and I will not be alone."

Harold stayed.

Splinter came a minute later, speaking a quiet word to his sons before closing the door, leaving them out in the warm. Almost without acknowledging Harold or Alopex, he came to kneel in front of the robot.

"My son," he said. "I did not allow you to become trapped in the darkness, and I will not let you be trapped in this machine, either. I am coming for you."

Crying was one more thing Donatello could not do.


	2. v1,2

Splinter could not find Donatello.

He followed the electric pathways for hours, but he could detect no spark of life, no trace of his son. At some point Harold left and Honeycutt entered; Alopex curled around him and then someone brought blankets. And still he meditated.

This was not like the Garden of Life and Death. He had expected the maze and the light, had encountered them before and knew their dangers. Knew, too, that his beloved Tang Shen would be there, to guide and protect their son until Yoshi could lead him out.

Here everything was unfamiliar, everything was cold and still. Splinter called continuously for his son, but Donatello did not answer.

On this strange aspect of the astral plane, Splinter stopped to think.

Around him were wires and gears, intricately connected and stretching into infinity, but all motionless. It was a giant machine, and if it had a purpose, Splinter could not discern it.

Donatello would be able to. His brightest son would gladly get lost in this place, until he had unlocked all its secrets. Was that what he was doing now? If so, why could Splinter not detect his excited energy?

Perhaps Donatello _was_ this machine, as his other sons had explained from what Honeycutt had told them. But, then, why did he not make it move?

Perhaps it was broken. Donatello could not always heal himself when he was injured, and perhaps now he was too incapacitated to repair the machine he had become.

Splinter renewed his meditative efforts, searching for anything that was out of place. He did not know what a malfunction would look like…

There. At the center of the machine, the heart of everything, a gear was straining to move. Something was not permitting it to do so.

Splinter touched the hub of the gear, and it turned one click.

"F-Father…"

The voice came from all around him, weak and scared.

Splinter looked up at the endless flywheels. "I am here, my son." He touched the central gear again, releasing its trapped energy.

"Where is here?"

"I do not know…" Splinter lowered his hand from the gear as it began to turn slowly on its own. "We returned to Harold's laboratory to find you very near death. Professor Honeycutt, saying he could not save your body, rescued your mind by placing it in this robot. Are you able to awaken to yourself now?"

"I - I already am awake," Donatello replied, his voice a little stronger now. "I can see you, out there. But I don't know how to make the robot move." A tremor came into his words again. "Father, what if I'm never able to?"

Splinter drew a deep breath, and folded his hands inside the sleeves of his robe. "My son, when have you ever failed to learn how to operate a machine?"

"Okay." Donatello paused, as the wheel turned, gradually bringing the rest of the wondrous machine to life. "Is Angel out there? I want to talk to her."

* * *

Angel was sitting on a crate, kicking her heels against it, when Splinter came out of the cooling unit. She would have liked to say she was as anxious as anyone for news of Donnie's condition, but having watched the other Turtles as afternoon turned into night, and seeing how they rushed their father now, she knew it just wasn't true.

"How is he?" Mike asked, in a hushed tone.

Splinter looked at each of his sons in turn. "He is … well, relatively speaking." He shook his head as each tried to ask a question over the others. "He is in the robot. He is able to see and hear, but he does not know how to control this new body in order to move or speak." His gaze turned slowly to Angel. "He wishes to see you."

Angel startled, not having expected to be included in this conversation more than peripherally. "Me? What for?"

The Turtles looked equally baffled, until Mike said, "Cuz you figured out how to work that suit so fast."

Angel looked down at herself, remembering that over the past long hours, she hadn't bothered to change out of the exo-suit.

"Okay," she said. "I'll see what I can do."

It wasn't comfortable to have Donatello's whole family watching her as she walked into the cooling unit, like she was their only hope, but she tried to walk confidently. Donnie had asked for her; he thought she could help him; and he was no dummy.

It was unsettling in its own way to approach Metalhead, instead of what her brain told her was Donatello, but she sat on the floor and said "Hey, Don" in what she hoped was a casual tone. So he was a robot now. Was that really weirder than being a mutated turtle?

There was no answer, as Splinter had warned her, so she continued. "Master Splinter says you're having some trouble interfacing with the bot. Neural networks are tricky that way. Takes a little while to get the hang of them."

She shot a glance at Honeycutt and Alopex, acknowledging them before turning to Don again. "It's not quite like controlling your own body. It's more like - you know, what you would imagine telekinesis to feel like. Kind of reaching out a little, with your mind. Or that feeling of looking at a remote control and thinking about which buttons to press to make something happen, and at the same time picturing that thing already happening."

She trailed off again, watching the robot for any signs of life. "Don't worry if you can't get it right away. It'll come."

She looked around the room, not wanting to stare at Don, but not sure what else to say. "Hey Professor," she began, when she met Honeycutt's electronic gaze. "What about you? What was it like, turning into a robot?"

"I did not -" Honeycutt shook his head, letting the inaccuracy go. "The transition was not difficult for me, neurally. My robot body, the Simulated Anthropomorphic Lifeform, is specifically designed to be controlled through direct interface with a sentient mind. I was not certain that -" At Angel's glare, he veered away from the discouraging news. "I did not expect that transitioning into Metalhead would be easy for Donatello, but it was the best option available in the time that we had."

"And what's it like now?" Angel asked.

"There are many advantages," Honeycutt replied, catching on to her angle. "Any shortcomings are often quickly remedied via upgrade."

"Sounds easier than ninja training." Angel leaned back on her hands, subtly scanning the Turtle-shaped robot to see if it had moved at all. _Nope._

"Indeed," Honeycutt said, and then the conversation trailed off.

Angel looked around again, trying to both keep Don company and give him some privacy at the same time. As minutes ticked by with still no movement from the robot, she leaned forward a little, addressing him earnestly.

"Listen, Don… I bet you really want to see your family. I know they want to see you. But you've gotta be able to say hey to them. Can you do that?" She paused, reached out with her mind, and turned on the heater in her suit. "Can you try to say hey to us?"

The robot remained silent.

* * *

From the way Alopex walked out of the room, everyone knew it was not good news.

"There is nothing yet," she reported, head bowed, hands clasped in front of her. "We cannot tell whether -"

The door opened again, and Angel exploded into the outer area. "He's talking," she gasped. "We got him."

Raph leapt to his feet. "What did he say?"

"I have no idea," Angel said, though this didn't seem to dim her mood at all. "I think it was math. Hold on."

She disappeared back into the cooling unit, and emerged again a moment later. "He's kind of hard to understand, but he says he's going to walk out of there if it's the last thing he does. He wants you all to get some rest."

"Like hell," Raph said.

"It's going to be a while," Angel said. "But I'll tell him he has your full moral support."

"Let's try to get some sleep." Leo turned away from the cooling unit. "It won't help Don if he has to worry about us too."

"There are some cots in the back," Harold said, gesturing to a narrow hallway.

Raph shook his head. "If I sleep at all, it'll be here."

Leo opened his mouth, but Splinter held up a hand. "There is no sense arguing. Let us all spend the night as we choose, and hope that Donatello will be able to join us in the morning."

There were nods all around, and the tired mutants and humans dispersed.


	3. v1,3

It was hard. It was possibly the most difficult recovery Don had ever gone through. But, he reflected, at least he wasn't in pain.

He also knew that he wasn't yet dealing with all the psychological baggage of what had happened to him. That would come later.

 _Learn how to walk first_ , he told himself, all through the long night. _Have an emotional breakdown later._

He couldn't get a straight answer on who had or had not gone to bed, but various friends and family members took turns keeping him company while he fought to be able to move this new body. He didn't talk to them, except to assure them that yes, he was still there, and please let him figure out basic motor skills in peace.

Angel and Alopex were with him when, around dawn - not that it made any difference inside the lab - he was finally able to turn his head.

"God," he said, as his optical sensors automatically analyzed the new scene for him. "I feel like the Tin Man from _The Wizard of Oz_. I never thought I would be so relieved to look at something different."

"You're a rock star, Don," Angel told him. "I'd say high-five, but, you know, let's take a rain check on that."

"Maybe hold the rain check too," Don said. "I'm stuck."

It took ten minutes for him to turn his head back the other way, but after that things began to come together. It wasn't quite like Angel had described, and he couldn't exactly say what it _was_ like, but an enigmatic sense of how to make it _work_ was falling into place.

By noon he was walking, slowly and unsteadily, but he could circle the room to the extent that the connecting cable allowed. Angel and Alopex had given way to Honeycutt and Splinter, and they watched Don wordlessly as he moved towards and away from the table that held his former body, craning his neck up at it.

"Am I… alive?" he asked finally. "Up there?"

"Technically, yes," Honeycutt replied. "But you would not be if we stopped life support."

Don looked at the floor, then at the table again. "I want to see myself."

Honeycutt found a stepstool, and helped Don climb it. The Turtle looked silently at his abandoned form, his neck swivelling back and forth with soft mechanical whirrings.

"Try to keep the machines going?" he asked, after a long moment. "I'm - I'm not ready to close that door yet."

"We will do all that we can," Honeycutt promised.

Don nodded. "Sensei… please help me put my mask on?"

Splinter moved around the table, and gently slid Donatello's mask from his brow, taking care not to disturb the sleep-like expression on his face. With slow, telegraphed movements, he tied the purple fabric over his son's new eyes, adjusting it until his vision was unobscured.

"All right." Don reached out, clumsily, and Splinter took his hand with quiet understanding. "I'm ready to be disconnected now."

"Certainly." Honeycutt moved to take hold of the cable, where it was attached to the helmet. "Please tell us at once if anything does not feel right."

"It would be easier to tell you if something _did_ feel right," Don muttered, trying to cover his trepidation with a joke.

Honeycutt unplugged the cord.

And Don felt - nothing. No difference from a moment ago. He nodded at the professor's questioning look, and Honeycutt came to loosen the other end of the cable from the back of his head.

"All right," Don said again. He surveyed his body one more time, then turned away. "Let's go see the guys."

* * *

When Don emerged from the cooling unit, the room outside was empty, save for Harold typing away at a computer. The scientist glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the door opening, then did a double-take at who had come out.

"Donatello!" He leapt up from his chair to greet the Turtle. "All systems go, I see."

"More or less," Don replied, moving stiffly away from the door.

"Excellent, excellent." Harold looked down, studying Don's new form. "You know, when I designed this robot based on your capabilities, I had no idea you would someday be controlling its functions from the inside. Tell me, are you able to activate Speeder Mode? Or fire the lasers?"

Don stared at him.

"Mm, yes." Harold stroked his beard as he reconsidered his own words. "On second thought, maybe we should disable the lasers for now." He reached for the screwdriver in his pocket.

"Don't touch me," Don snapped. "Haven't you done enough already?"

"My son," Splinter said gently, from just behind him. "Perhaps it would be wise, until you have better control over this body."

Don sighed, a forced and artificial sound. "All right." He definitely didn't want to accidentally shoot his brothers. As Harold approached him, though, another important thought came to his mind. "Wait, isn't Metalhead's control panel -"

The next sound that came out of the robot's voice synthesizer was a scream, tinny and mechanical but filled with very real fear.

Immediately, Harold slammed the hatch of the metal shell. "Don, what's the -"

"Donatello." Splinter spoke over Harold's question in a commanding tone. "Are you hurt?"

"I - No." Don tried to regain his composure, but the impossibility of doing breathing exercises was suffocating and only made things worse. "I don't think this body can feel pain. But right now it's occupied by a mind that categorizes _that_ as something that should never happen."

Splinter placed a comforting hand on Donatello's forearm, and the sensation of pressure calmed him a little. "Are you able to try again?"

"Y-yes." Don turned his head to look at Harold. "But do it quickly."

Harold nodded, and in a handful of seconds he had opened the panel, tweaked a few controls, and closed everything up again. "That should do it."

"Okay." Don worked his arms, making sure he could still control them. "Where are my brothers?"

"They wanted to let off some steam," Harold said, slipping the screwdriver back into the pocket of his lab coat. "I sent them to the testing room; there's nothing there now that they can destroy."

Don looked towards the hallway, calculating. "I'm not up to walking that far. Master Splinter -"

"I will be right back," Splinter said, and vanished along the metal passage.

* * *

There was nothing at all ninja-like about the way Raph, Leo, and Mike came thundering up the hall. Don raised a hand in greeting as they skidded to a halt.

"Hey, guys."

"Donnie!" Mike cheered, flinging up his own hands. Then he stopped, arms hanging in the air, not seeming sure what to do next. "Can I - give you a hug? Would that be weird?"

"No," Don said. "That would be just right."

In a moment his brothers were kneeling on the floor around him, embracing him tightly.

"What else can we do for you?" Leo asked, when their need to be all together again was, for the time being, satisfied. "What do you need now?"

"Tell me you stopped the Technodrome," Don said. "Tell me this was all worth it."

"We - Yes," Leo replied. "Burnow Island was terraformed, but nothing beyond that. Fugitoid shut everything down."

"And destroyed it?" Don pressed.

"No," Leo admitted. "I mean - it's still standing. You'd have to ask him how fried the circuits are."

Don made a mental note to do exactly that, and moved on. "Krang?"

"Sent to Dimension X."

"Shredder?"

"We don't know."

"You _don't know?_ "

Leo looked at his knees, then forced himself to face his brother as he delivered the news. "Don, it was chaos. I know this isn't how you wanted it to end, but for now, can we just be glad we're all alive?" He held Don's faintly-glowing gaze for a moment longer, before he had to look away. "Um…"

For a minute Don didn't move. Then he rested a hand on Leo's arm. "It's okay. We'll get them next time. Just wait until I learn how to fire the lasers."

"They put your brain in a robot with freaking _lasers_?" Raph asked.

"Dude," Mike said, sitting up on his knees, "that is _so cool_."

It _was_ cool, Don reflected, as he clumsily joined in the exchange of fist bumps. There were going to be setbacks, to be sure, and challenges, and frustrations. But there were also going to be some very interesting opportunities.

* * *

After a few more long days of recovery, before they went home - thank goodness for the teleporter - Don sought out Harold.

"Does Metalhead have any secret functions that I really should know about?" he asked first.

Harold thought for a moment. "Well, you've got the Anti-Gravity Gauntlet. And there's Terminator Mode. I rather like that one. Ah, and -"

"I didn't ask for a list of features, Harold."

"Oh, fine." Harold pouted a little. "I don't think there are any capabilities you haven't seen."

"Then would you mind re-enabling everything?" Don turned a little, offering his shell to the scientist. "I'm not ready to use the weapons yet, but... I'd feel better knowing I could."

"Of course." Harold made the necessary adjustments quickly, remembering the earlier incident.

"I haven't eaten or slept since I transferred," Don said, while Harold was occupied with the circuits, "and even for me that's unusual. Am I right in thinking that all I need now is to plug myself into an outlet once in a while?"

"What else do you expect a robot to be powered by?" Harold answered. "No, don't tell me. Who knows what kinds of things your strange friends use as power sources." He stood up, and Don turned back around to face him. "You'd better get going, I suppose."

"Yeah." Don started towards where his family was waiting, then stopped and turned back once more. "By the way," he said. "Thanks for saving my life, Harold. I didn't know you cared that much about me."

"Care about you?" Harold waved a hand dismissively. "Don't be obstruse, Donatello."

Don let the word go unchallenged, just this once.


	4. v2,1

Leo was beginning to regret having tried so hard to take an interest in Don's hobbies.

About a week after they got home, Don sat him down in front of the computer and showed him how to log in to that game he had spent so much time on before the whole thing with the Technodrome happened.

"Are you sure you want to play _Strangeness_ now?" Leo asked uncertainly. He didn't want to deny Don a little bit of fun when he had been working so hard and struggling so much, but with Shredder missing, Karai still at large, and Hob and his crew up to who-knew-what, it hardly seemed like the time for games.

"I don't want to play," Don replied. "I want to talk to Harold."

But first he had Leo open something that didn't look like a legitimate part of the game world. Leo followed his brother's directions as best he could, typing and clicking with painful slowness.

"And now click the microphone," Don instructed him.

Leo did so, and Harold's voice came unexpectedly - for him, at least - out of the computer.

"Donatello! It's good to see you online again. Everything is going well, I trust?"

"As well as can be expected," Don replied. "Listen, Harold, I need a diagram of Metalhead's wiring."

"A what?"

"A diagram of Metalhead's wiring," Don repeated slowly. "Surely you have one."

"No, I don't," Harold said. He sounded distracted. "I don't have time to document my genius."

"Really?" Don replied. "You've been logged on to this server until 3 AM for the past five nights."

"How could you possibly know that? You haven't been on -" Harold broke off, then started again. "Did you hack the ISP logs? I could have you banned from the game for that."

"That's productive, Harold. Get off the computer and draw me some schematics."

"I'm in the middle of a very important campaign!"

"I'm in a robot. The specs. Right now."

"Oh, fine," Harold grumbled. "But if my Level 60 -"

"Click the X," Don murmured to Leo, and Leo was only too happy to comply.

* * *

Two days later, Don had another task for Leo.

"Would you go over to the lab and get those drawings?" he asked.

"Are they done?" Leo replied.

"If they're not," Don said, "you can encourage Harold to finish them in any way that you like."

"Then I guess I'll be home either right away or tomorrow morning," Leo said, and he departed.

The trip didn't take long. "Harold?" he called out, as he walked into the lab. "It's Leonardo."

The scientist appeared from around a corner, already shoving a sheaf of papers at Leo. He looked haggard, exhausted. "Come for your brother's diagrams, I suppose. Here they are."

Leo glanced at the drawings - chicken scratch to him, but he hoped they were what Don was looking for - then carefully folded them and stowed them in his belt.

"You're still here," Harold observed. "What do you want?"

Leo laced his fingers uneasily. "Can I... see him?"

Harold made an inscrutable expression, then beckoned for Leo to follow.

The corridors were silent as they walked along - not towards the cooling unit, Leo noticed. The lab seemed to be deserted aside from the two of them. "Where is everyone?" he asked.

"Angel went home," Harold replied, "Alopex vanished to wherever you mutants go when you're not bothering me, and Honeycutt went back to Burnow Island. He said that some things still need to be settled with the Technodrome, and he's the only one who can go there, now that the place has been terraformed."

Leo thought about this for a moment. "Don could go." Then he was distracted from this idea as Harold showed him into a small room.

Don's body was lying in a hospital-style bed - Leo chose not to ask where it had come from - pale and limp. The consciousness-transferring helmet was gone, replaced by an awkwardly-situated oxygen mask, IV poles, and softly-beeping machines.

"We managed to stabilize him a bit," Harold said. "He's progressed from suspended animation to a persistent coma."

"In English?"

Harold sighed heavily. "He still needs to be on life support, and he won't wake up, but at least we were able to move him out of the freezer."

"Can we take him home?"

"I wouldn't recommend it."

Leo looked at Don's unnaturally still body. "Is there any chance of further progress?" he asked quietly. "Will he ever be able to go back?"

"I don't know," Harold replied, "but if he can't, he owes me a new robot."

Leo looked at the scientist incredulously. "Honestly, you can't build your _own_ new robot?"

"Mm." Harold glanced at Don's body, and a look Leo didn't entirely like passed over his face. "Yes, maybe I should." For a moment he seemed to fade into the same distracted state that so often came over Donatello, and then his gaze snapped back to the present. "You're _still_ here. Go on, shoo. Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Sorry for taking up your time," Leo murmured, and then he headed home.

* * *

"Here you go," Leo said, and he held the rumpled papers patiently until Don was able to grasp them. Then he waited while his brother read the diagrams.

"I have to say," Don commented, "Harold may be an infuriating lab partner, but he does very elegant work. I would have just…"

"Just what?" Leo prompted, when Don never finished the sentence, but his brilliant brother was already walking away, distracted by some new idea.

Leo had the nagging sensation that he had meant to say something else before that inevitably happened, but he couldn't think what it was.


	5. v2,2

"Raph, do you have a minute?"

Raph stretched languidly on the couch, expecting another request from his suddenly-shorter brother to help him reach something. "Yeah, what's up?"

"In my lab," Don said, which wasn't quite a logical completion of anything said so far, but that was typical for the nerd, and Raph got up and followed him.

"I ain't helping with any of your crazy experiments," Raph said, as he ambled through the doorway.

"It's not a crazy experiment," Don said, already climbing up on the stepstool he used now to reach his workbench. "It's robot first aid."

Raph leaned on the back of the chair. "It's what now?"

"Robot first aid," Don repeated, in that infuriating way he had, like maybe in the last three seconds you had become a super-genius like him and could understand the exact same words he already said. Raph tried real hard to like all of his long-lost brothers, but he just didn't get this Donnie guy.

He circled a hand. "Which is…?"

"First aid for robots," Don replied impatiently. "Is that really not clear enough for you? I'm a robot. Sooner or later I'm going to get broken. Someone needs to know how to fix me."

"Yeah, so what'm _I_ doing here?"

Don looked over his shoulder at him, turning his head just slightly too far to not be unnerving. "Is there anyone else in this family you think would be better at it?"

Raph thought about that. Splinter was powerful with spiritual stuff, but his technological know-how only seemed to extend as far as half a dozen buttons on the TV remote. Mike was a badass buddy in a fight, but outside of that context he didn't like to do much of anything without somebody holding his hand. And Leo… well, all Raph knew about Leo was that he wasn't supposed to touch anything mechanical without supervision.

"Yeah, guess not," he said. "Tell me something, though. You keep saying you want to go back to your body, but you're working awfully hard at getting used to Metalhead. What's the deal?"

"I play both sides," Don said.

"Yeah, no kidding."

Don's electronic eyes narrowed. "I did what I had to do, Raph. Now, come look at these diagrams."

Raph looked. "They're garbage."

"Right now, they're me, thank you very much."

Raph ran a hand over his head. "I dunno, Donnie, why don't we just take you back to Harold when you get broken? He built the damn robot, didn't he?"

Don was quiet for a long minute. "You're still new to this family, Raph," he said finally, "so maybe you don't know how we do things. We take care of our own, as best we can, even when we don't know how. There was never anyone else."

"Don't tell _me_ about there not bein' anyone else," Raph said in a low tone.

Don held his gaze.

"Ah, damnit." Raph grabbed the diagrams, studied them again, then threw them back on the counter. "Tell me what all these symbols are."

He didn't even know what subject Don spent the afternoon teaching him, but if it would help his family, he was sure as hell going to learn it.

* * *

The next morning they were at it again, and despite his determination, Raph was feeling hopelessly defeated by the tangle of lines and the squiggly symbols. Don didn't have the fine motor control for writing, so Raph had to take dictation for formulas, then endure corrections, and then sit through an explanation of what he had just written.

"I give up, Don," he said, tossing the pencil across the desk. It bounced off the metal surface, ricocheted off the underside of a shelf, and vanished somewhere in the detritus. "I don't get this. I gotta get my hands on something, you know?"

To his great surprise, Don simply said, "Fine," raised one arm, and nodded towards the back of his hand. "Open up that panel."

Raph stared back at him. "You're joking, right?"

Don didn't move. Any movement took a lot of effort for him now, so, like a cheaply-animated cartoon character, he remained perfectly still unless there was a good reason for him to do otherwise. "Why would I be joking?"

"You're seriously going to let me mess around in your circuits?"

"Why not?" Don replied. "It doesn't hurt me. Robots don't need to heal; they just get repaired."

"But I don't know how," Raph said. "That's kinda the whole point."

"Then we'll sit here until you learn," Don said. "Better now than when I can't help you."

It was hard to argue with any of that. Raph reached for a screwdriver - he didn't know how many the little nerd had, but at least one always seemed to rise to the top of the junk piles - leaned towards the proffered arm, then stopped. "Wait a minute. You've got weapons in there and I know you don't know how to use them. Are you going to accidentally vaporize me?"

"I am almost certainly not going to accidentally vaporize you."

Raph pulled back. " _Almost_ certainly? I ain't a big fan of those odds, Don."

Don regarded him coolly, though how Raph could tell, he wasn't sure. "You like ten-on-one but not _almost certainly_? Remind me, after the robot repair lessons, I should teach you some remedial math."

Before Raph could reply, there was a cough from the doorway. He turned to see Leo standing there in that awkward way that didn't really inspire any confidence in his leadership abilities.

"Don, do you have a minute?" Leo asked.

"I have lots of minutes," Don replied. "Not needing to eat or sleep has really freed up my schedule."

"I kept forgetting to tell you," Leo said, "but while I was at Harold's he mentioned that Fugitoid went back to Burnow Island to work on dismantling the Technodrome. He -"

"Okay, I'll join him," Don interrupted, and turned back to Raph.

"You - Don't you want to talk about it?" Leo asked.

"What's there to talk about?" Don said. Leo opened his mouth to reply, but Don didn't let him talk. "If I _could_ sleep, I _wouldn't_ until that thing is reduced to microscopic scrap. Krang tried to render our entire planet unfit for any type of life as we know it. Why are all of you too caught up in your own problems to see that this is more important?" He got down from the stool, stiffly. "I need to go blow off some steam. I'll see you later."

"Guy's got some kinda issues," Raph commented, after Don had left.

"Yeah," Leo said, but Raph could tell it wasn't really a "yeah" of agreement.


	6. v2,3

"Follow me," Don said, so Mike hopped off the couch and did exactly that.

"Where are we going, Robo-bro?" he asked, when they got out into the sewers.

"Never call me that," Don replied.

Okay, so Robo-bro was in a mood. Mike could roll with it.

"It's cool," he said. "I'm up for whatever." He graciously provided a conversational opportunity, then, when Robo-bro didn't take it, cheerfully continued to fill the silence. "You don't even have to tell me. I love surprises. Or guessing games. Should I guess where we're going?"

"No."

"Okay, then, surprise it is. This is gonna be great. You are one surprising guy, R- Donnie. I never know what you're gonna do but I almost always like it. Hey, remember that time when you -" Several hilarious stories popped into his mind, but he dismissed all of them. "Yeah, of course you do. Mind like a - like one of those stupid toys where you can't get the pieces apart. Where _I_ can't get the pieces apart," he added, a little sadly, because Donnie always seemed to solve those things with a five-second glance and two moves.

Leaving off the conversation, he turned his attention to where they were going. The way seemed familiar, but he didn't say anything until they stopped in front of a heavy wooden door.

"This is our old Lair," he said, when it seemed they had arrived at their destination. "What are we here for?"

"You?" Don said. "Waiting outside and not coming in, no matter what you hear."

"Huh?" Mike said, but Don had already gone inside and slammed the door behind him.

Well, okay. Just a little delay to the surprise, then. Robo-bro must have been cooking up something neat inside. Mike couldn't figure out when in the past several weeks there had been time for any side projects, but hey, they were a multi-talented and indef- - indefinite? indefeatable? - tireless bunch of ninjas.

Mike chilled in the tunnel, hooking his thumbs into his belt. After a while he withdrew thumbs and nunchucks and amused himself by inventing several new and wholly-unapproved moves. He began to wonder if there wasn't really a surprise after all - he'd made that up himself, hadn't he? - but whatever Don was doing in there, Mike was sure it would end with something worthwhile for himself. Robo-bro was reliable that way.

The "no matter what you hear" was kinda weird, though, because so far Mike hadn't heard anything. He caught his weapons and edged towards the door, stretching sideways to listen until his head brushed the heavy wood.

Nothing.

He leaned away again. Maybe he should check on Donnie. Maybe -

His thoughts skipped when something that sounded a lot like an explosion threw him off his feet.

 _Maybe he should check on Donnie._

A second explosion nearly foiled his attempt to stand, but something was blowing up around his brother and ninja mode was _on_.

"Donnie?" he called out.

No answer.

"You okay, bro?"

There was a weird whining sound that Mike couldn't place. He thought about going in. He thought about running back to the new Lair to get help.

Don had told him to _wait_ , no matter what.

Had Don expected the "no matter what" to include machine-gun fire?

He tightened his fists around his weapons and took a step towards the door. Before he could take another, he heard a much more welcome sound.

Don was calling his name, and he sounded just fine.

"I'm here!" Mike called back.

"Come in."

Mike went in. The place was a wreck, as places usually were after a couple of good explosions. It had kinda looked like that before, though, he remembered with a twinge of sadness.

"Look at this," Don said, and turned back towards the detritus of their former home, raising both arms.

First a chunk of rubble went flying. Then a line of bullet holes was carved into a wall, and a Mouser head exploded, and finally a broken chair burst into flames.

Then it was Mike's turn to be silent. "You're a one-man army, R- bro," he said, when he remembered how to speak.

Don lowered his arms. "Yeah. Just what I always wanted."

Mike shifted uneasily. He wanted to be supportive, but his social playbook didn't have a page for _pacifist brother gets turned into death machine_. "So, uh." He held out an imaginary microphone, hoping to get a hint on what Donnie needed from him. "You just learned to shoot lasers from your hands. What do you plan to do next?"

Don's answer came without hesitation. " _Destroy the Technodrome._ "

Forget uneasy. Michelangelo was _terrified_.


	7. v3,1

Kneeling wasn't at all a natural posture for Metalhead, so instead Donatello sat.

"I'm going to the Technodrome," he said, in the same tone he might have used to announce he was going to bed.

Splinter didn't quite know how to react. It was still not so long ago that none of his sons would have dared to speak to him that way. Then, suddenly, Leonardo was "going topside", Michelangelo was "going to see April", and Raphael - most worrying of all - was "going out for some air".

Now Donatello, his gentlest son, whose behavior had become increasingly erratic and defiant, was "going to the Technodrome".

"What do you intend to do there?" Splinter asked quietly, because it was clear that _no_ would only be ignored.

"Make sure it can never be used again," Donatello replied. "Try to learn enough about Krang and his technology that nothing like this can _ever_ happen again. And…" He paused. "... spend some time with Honeycutt."

Splinter furrowed his brow at the unanticipated answer.

"There's never been anyone to teach me how to be a Turtle," Donatello said, very softly. "But someone can teach me how to be a robot."

Splinter's reply was careful. "My son, I am glad you are making the most of your temporary state, but -"

"It's not temporary," Donatello interrupted. He held his father's gaze as that sank in, as Splinter sat back. "The odds are 94% that I won't be able to return to my body." He looked away, the force of his own words affecting him too. "I'm… I'm more useful like this anyway."

The idea struck Splinter so deeply he couldn't even respond, and without waiting for him to, Donatello stood up. On his feet, he still wasn't any taller than his kneeling father.

"I'd better get going," he said. "I'll be back in a few weeks."

And then he was gone. Splinter's children were always gone, lately, and sometimes it seemed as though they never really came back at all.

* * *

The nights had been lonely - when his family slept, and Don just plugged himself into an extension cord and kept working in his lab - but the walk back to Harold's was the first time he'd been really _alone_ since his awakening.

In a strange way, though, he didn't _feel_ alone. The flamethrowers gave him a sense of comfort that he could never seem to get from his bo, no matter how many hours he spent training to make it an extension of his arms. The metal body gave him a sense of safety he had never been able to find in his own skin.

He almost _wanted_ someone to pick a fight with him.

But between Michelangelo's nervous goodbye and Harold's distracted hello, he encountered no one.

"I'm going to the Technodrome," he announced.

"I'm not your babysitter," Harold snapped, without even turning around from whatever he was working on. "Go wherever you want."

Without another word, Don activated the teleporter, and stepped through.

Immediately he regretted not taking a moment to recalibrate the machine properly. He had simply set it to the same coordinates he had used to send his brothers to Burnow Island, and that location was a long way from the Technodrome.

He started walking.

"Could use Speeder Mode," he muttered to himself, but in another sense, he couldn't.

The place was a wasteland. Nothing was living, though many formerly-living things were strewn about the barren landscape, lying as they had fallen. It was eerie. Don had a strong instinct that he should hold his breath, even though he already wasn't breathing. He wasn't sure what he had onboard that could analyze air samples, but he was confident that if and when he found such a function, it wouldn't tell him anything good about the local atmosphere.

He focused on covering ground. His coordination had improved greatly over the last few weeks, and walking had become almost effortless. Metalhead hadn't been built for long-range use, though, and the shortness of his legs made progress frustratingly slow.

He occupied his mind by imagining what this must have been like for his brothers. The environment would have been more hospitable – Mike had described lush forests of trees, before Raph had interrupted to describe the armies that were locked in battle all over the island. That, at least, was an obstacle Don didn't have to deal with. The lifeless bodies of the soldiers only forced him to take minor detours, sticking to the easiest terrain.

Leo had described the tactical problems caused by their failed rendezvous with Fugitoid. Without the robot's guidance, they had had to infiltrate the Technodrome on their own, then locate the Professor.

It occurred to Don that this time, Honeycutt didn't even know anyone was coming. He mentally kicked himself for the oversight, then apologized to himself for the kicking when he realized he had no means of contacting anyone on the island. So far as he knew, all the communication systems had been destroyed in the battle. Ironically, he'd be doing this the old-fashioned way.

It took him nearly until nightfall to reach the Technodrome, then some further exploration to locate an entrance. It was completely unguarded – either because Honeycutt was a dedicated pacifist, or because he knew that anyone who tried to invade would be defeated by the toxic air long before they accomplished anything.

Don had never been in the Technodrome, but he knew its layout from the blueprints Honeycutt had shown him. How much of that layout was still intact, however, he wasn't sure.

After a moment's thought, he decided to head for the control room. If Honeycutt wasn't there now, he surely would be eventually. Don could wait as long as was necessary. It took a few false starts, working his way around collapsed hallways, but his memory was good and he found his destination without incident.

He was somewhat surprised to find the room operational. Data was skimming across the screens – and Honeycutt was standing in front of them, working at the keyboard.

Don took a step into the room. "Hi."

Honeycutt turned in surprise. "Donatello. What are you doing here?"

"I've come to destroy the Technodrome," he said, and it felt surprisingly good to give the mental push that morphed _all_ the weapons from Metalhead's hands. "This place is still way too intact."

"Oh no no no. Put those away at once!" Honeycutt moved to stand in front of Don, preventing him from shooting or setting fire to anything. "No one is destroying the Technodrome!"

"Yes, I can see that." Don activated the flamethrower's pilot light and the Anti-Gravity Gauntlet's "ready" setting. "But someone should be. I'm happy to volunteer."

"Donatello," Honeycutt said, not ceding his ground. "Look at what you are about to destroy. Rarely have I seen such an exceptional piece of technology, and no one can access it but us. Why would we not take advantage of such a resource?"

Don lowered his weapons just slightly. "Because it's a planet-destroying super-weapon? How exactly do you plan to _take advantage of it_?"

"It is a machine," Honeycutt replied mildly. "It does only what it is programmed to do." He turned towards the control panel, and gestured for Don to follow. "Come and see."

Don hesitated a moment, then retracted the weapons and moved towards the screen. "Stockman attempted to turn the Technodrome to his own purposes by infecting it with malware," Honeycutt explained, as he manipulated the data on the screen. "The virus is still in the system and I am not yet confident it is safely contained. Beware of this as you work with the code." Don was about to protest that he had no intention of _working with the code_ , but Honeycutt spoke over him and continued. "Krang avoided the malware by switching to a back-up routine; I overrode this by rerouting the power source. The core of the Technodrome is still operational, and its computing power is almost unimaginable. We can use it to do tremendous good, Donatello."

Don skimmed the output scrolling up the screen, and warred with himself. What would his family say? Mike would definitely be in favor of _tremendous good_. Leo would point out the advantages of a base that their enemies could not approach without immediately asphyxiating. On the other hand, Raph always came down on the side of destroying things, and Splinter was probably too preoccupied with the currently-unknown whereabouts of the Shredder to care what happened to the Technodrome.

"I must recharge," Honeycutt said, moving away from the keyboard and touching his chest. A panel sprang open, and he drew out an extension cord. "You may do as you wish, but consider: If you destroy the Technodrome while I am plugged in, you will destroy me too." He held Don's gaze a moment longer than seemed necessary. "I think there is another reason why you came here – and that, I will be honored to assist with."

He pushed his plug into an outlet, settled cross-legged on the floor, and powered down, leaving Don alone with the biggest weapon of his worst enemy.


	8. v3,2

When Honeycutt's internal timer brought him out of sleep mode the next morning, he found his consciousness was still in his robotic body. Donatello had not destroyed the Technodrome, then.

In fact, it seemed that Donatello had hardly moved. He was seated opposite Honeycutt, plugged in to another outlet.

"I understand your logic," Donatello said, when he saw Honeycutt was awake. "And I think you're right. But I still really _want_ to destroy the Technodrome. Every time I think about letting it stay standing… I get so angry, I don't care how illogical it is."

Honeycutt unplugged his extension cord and stowed it inside his chest compartment before getting to his feet. "Donatello, I am concerned by your sudden thirst for destruction," he said carefully. "I worry that you are losing your humanity."

"I never had humanity," Don replied, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "I've never been human."

"Nor have I," Honeycutt reminded him gently. "Remember that the quality of humanity is not the state of being human, but the practice of embodying the best that humans can offer. Many humans do not have it. You do."

Don turned towards the outlet, winding up his own extension cord and putting it away. "I did, maybe."

"What is the prognosis for returning to your body?" Honeycutt asked.

"Terrible."

Honeycutt waited for Don to face him again. "Donatello, believe me – I felt much the same way when I transitioned to this form. I did not know if the sacrifice was worth it, and for a time it was difficult for me to see any reason to do the right thing. Being nearly indestructible, and capable of disguising myself, there could hardly be any repercussions for anything I chose to do." He moved to the control panel and pressed a key, resuming his work from the night before. "But then I said to myself, Zayton Honeycutt, what are you doing? You can be anyone, and you have nothing to lose. Are you going to be bitter and spiteful, or are you going to use this new ability – this new opportunity – to do all the good you still can?"

"I can't shapeshift," Don said, and Honeycutt noted that he politely refrained from mentioning that he also still had a family.

"Perhaps not," Honeycutt replied. "But allow me to show you what you _can_ do." He pointed to a port under the control panel. "Please insert yourself here."

"I am not interfacing with anything that belonged to Krang," Don said flatly.

"You will not have to," Honeycutt replied, "since the Technodrome never really _did_ belong to Krang. The plans may have been his, but the work is largely mine. I learned about Utrom technology, but Krang does not understand Neutrino technology. Nor can he do this."

The end of one of Honeycutt's fingers hinged open, and a thin wire snaked into the port. In a moment, the Technodrome came to life: overhead lights dialed up, vent systems circulated air, motors rumbled into readiness, and the coffee pot began to percolate.

"I sure wish I could drink some coffee right now," Don said, observing these effects.

"Stockman assured me that machine produces a distinctly sub-par beverage," Honeycutt replied, as he removed the cable from the port. "My point is, _we_ control the Technodrome – in a way Krang never could. We can choose to finish what he started, and have the entire Earth for ourselves. We can simply destroy what he built, and waste a phenomenal opportunity. Or we can use this incredible technology to make the world a better place, even though we may never be thanked for it." He paused a moment. "What do you choose, Donatello?"

"I…" Honeycutt waited while Don struggled with himself. "I still want to destroy _something_. Just to prove that I can. That no one is ever going to hurt me again. But… I can take it out on that mountain to the east. And…" He thought for another moment. "As a ninja, I'm trained to turn the enemy's energy back on them. I have to admit, it _would_ be satisfying to steal Krang's Armageddon machine and use it for the _opposite_ of what he intended."

"I am glad to hear it," Honeycutt said, and gestured again to the port. "Please. We are on the back-up system and Stockman's malware cannot hurt you."

With almost no hesitation, Don plugged himself into the port. "Now what?"

"Now, write some code."

It took a few minutes, but the words _HELLO WORLD_ typed themselves on the screen. At their appearance, Don laughed. "Trust _me_ to learn _that_ faster than I learned how to walk."

"Well done," Honeycutt said. He moved along the control panel, and connected to another port. "Let us walk through the code. I will teach you all that I know."

* * *

They worked all day and through the night – or, rather, the next _several_ nights. Don lost track of how many it had been. At some point, when a battery meter started flashing in the corner of his vision, he plugged himself in, then forgot about the extension cord that snaked behind him as he moved around the control room.

Mostly, he moved around inside the code, where he was _free_ – of extension cords, of his robot body, of any physical form at all. He didn't need to eat or sleep or shower or go to training or do any of the other things that had interfered with his work for so many years. Nor was he interrupted by well-meaning brothers, who wanted to see what he was up to, or remind him to take care of himself, or – worst of all – _take an interest_ in his hobbies. There was only Honeycutt, who was one badass of a code monkey, and who hour by hour was guiding Don in how best to move among the bits and bytes of data. The command lines were more welcoming than the shadows ever had been; he melded into them almost effortlessly, with hardly any training at all.

END

Don brushed the command aside, but it appeared again, insistently. His inability to get rid of it was puzzling until he realized Honeycutt was telling him to log off.

He stepped backwards out of the nested code, and quit the routine. In a blink he was back in the control room, and it took him a moment to re-orient to the physical world.

"What's wrong?" he asked Honeycutt.

"Nothing," the Neutrino replied. "We have gone as far as we can go in the back-up system. We will begin again on the primary system, but I need to finish cleaning up Stockman's malware first. You did very well, Donatello. Take a break."

"I don't need a break," Don replied.

Honeycutt studied him for a moment. "Perhaps you should call your family and speak with them," he suggested pointedly.

This idea wasn't a bad one, but it made no sense to Don. "How? Aren't all the communication systems down?"

Honeycutt looked puzzled. "Surely not your own?"

Don spread his hands. "I didn't bring anything."

"Does Metalhead not have an onboard transceiver?"

If Don had still been a Turtle, he would have smacked himself in the forehead. "Of course. I didn't even think of that when I asked Harold about the features. I don't need the wireless to control the robot anymore, but I should be able to use it to call out." A pause, in which nobody moved or spoke. "If I can figure out how."

"I am sure you will be able to," Honeycutt said, and left him to it.

* * *

"Ring. Ring. Incoming call. … Ring. Ring. Incoming call."

Leo looked over at Don's computer and sighed. He was convinced that Donatello had deliberately programmed all the alerts to be delivered in easily-understood spoken words, for the benefit of the rest of the family. He appreciated the thoughtfulness, and at the same time resented being patronized that way.

"Ring. Ring. Incoming call."

He put down the book he had been reading and walked over to the computer. It was probably April calling again; she'd been contacting them regularly, with increasingly-bizarre updates about the road trip she and Casey had gone on. Leo had been trying to make sense of the story, while covering for Don, who had left explicit instructions not to tell any more of their friends that he couldn't come to the phone right now because he was a robot.

He pressed a key to answer the call. "Hello?"

"Leo, it's me."

It took him a too-long moment to think of who he knew that had such an artificial-sounding voice. "Donatello. Are you back at Harold's? Do you need someone to pick you up?"

"No, I'm still on Burnow. I just learned to make phone calls from my mind."

Leo didn't know how to respond to this.

Don didn't seem quite sure how to follow it either. "So, um… how is everyone?"

"We're fine." Leo extended his consciousness, making sure the statement was true. "How are _you?_ "

"I'm… I'm good." He didn't let out a breath, but Leo's brain filled in the missing mannerism. "I'm glad I came here."

"You're having fun destroying the Technodrome?"

A pause. "I'll tell you about it when I get home."

"Will you be back soon?" Leo asked, and hoped the answer would be _yes_. He had never registered Don as making a lot of noise, and yet somehow the Lair was too quiet without his brainy presence.

"Um… how long have I been gone already?"

Leo palmed his forehead. "It's been about a week. Honestly, don't you have a clock built into your brain now?"

"I keep forgetting to look at it," Don replied – a little evasively, Leo thought. Even under the robotic monotone, he knew his brother's tells. "Another week or so, maybe. We're making a lot of progress."

Leo fought down the powerful urge to ask _on what_. He didn't need to know the plan. Don had proven he could be trusted as a strategist. Everything would have worked, if only Stockman hadn't betrayed them…

"- and so I'll see you then," Don said, as Leo realized he had zoned out of the conversation to mentally review the battle. "Bye!"

"Wait –" Leo reached for the keyboard, but Don had hung up, and Leo had no idea which button to press to get him back.


	9. v3,3

The next time Don disengaged from the code, he went outside without waiting for Honeycutt to make another suggestion.

It was a long way to the mountain. Again he considered using Speeder Mode. The idea was less off-putting than it had been when he first arrived on Burnow, but still he decided against it. He wasn't in a hurry.

They were making good progress on the reprogramming, stripping the code one line at a time. After making sure Don was protected from Stockman's malware, Honeycutt had patiently taught him what each line was doing, before archiving it in a safe place – exactly where, he wouldn't say – and deleting it from the Technodrome's systems. Don was learning more than he had thought possible about alien technology, and he was looking forward to rebuilding the code base with routines that would make the world a better place, instead of the terraformed hell he was walking through now.

At least he no longer needed to worry about being hot or cold – or about carrying food or water – and on this remote island he was in no danger of being seen. As he struggled up the foothills, he noted the strengths and weaknesses of his new body. Metalhead was even more of a tank than a mutant Turtle was; he could literally bulldoze through just about anything. On the other hand, he was markedly less agile than Don's former self. Don's surreptitious attempts at running and jumping had ended in dismal failure, and any ninja-esque moves were simply out of the question.

So, he reminded himself, was camping out. In his new form he was literally incapable of being away from electrical outlets for too long. If his battery ran down while he was in the mountains, he would be trapped there until someone came for him.

He kept moving.

Around a bend in the rough path he'd been following, he found what he was looking for: a monolithic outcropping of the mountain, smooth and towering.

He got to work.

* * *

The good news was that Harold had built Metalhead with some very solid battery life. Don's meter stayed safely in the green zone as he worked through the night. Somewhere before dawn, he stopped, regarded his handiwork, and called Honeycutt.

"Yes, Donatello?"

He struck the most self-satisfied pose his robotic body was capable of. "Want to see me destroy the Technodrome?"

"I most certainly do not," Honeycutt retorted. "Where are you?"

"I'm sending my coordinates," Don replied, and did so. "Meet me." Without waiting for a response, he ended the call.

It didn't take long for Honeycutt to arrive. He was faster than Don - more used to his robotic form, or maybe just more nimbly-built.

"Donatello," he snapped, as soon as he came over the last rise into view, "we have talked about –" He trailed off as he looked up, and up some more. "Oh my."

Don turned his head to look at the stone Technodrome he had cut, with Metalhead's laser cannon, from the stone monolith. The replica was not exact in every detail – he lacked his namesake's sculptural talent – but he was pleased with the menacing eye that crowned the carving. He gave Honeycutt a moment to appreciate what he had accomplished. Then -

"Hold on to your hard drive," he said, and with one well-aimed laser pulse, he blasted the faux-Technodrome to smithereens.

The pulverized stone rained down across the end of the island, across the remaining lobes of the mountain, and then there was silence.

"Are you proud of yourself?" Honeycutt asked.

"I…" Don stared through the spot where the outcropping had been, and out to sea. "No. Why did I just destroy _more_ of Burnow Island?"

"A very good question."

Don hung his head. His desire for destruction was completely spent. What had he proved by dominating a defenseless pile of rock? He felt like a bully and a jerk.

"I – I need to go recharge," he said at last. "Then, we're going to make this island right."

Honeycutt looked at him, and the rock-strewn landscape, skeptically. "How do you intend to do that?"

Don gestured to the lowlands, to the remnants of the battle. "We're going to bury these soldiers."

* * *

It was the right thing to do. It was the _honorable_ thing to do. Plus, it gave him a chance to see whether any of the bodies belonged to the Shredder.

They quickly established a rhythm. Honeycutt checked each body, uploading identification data into his archives. Then Don cut the outline of a grave with the laser cannon in his left hand, and used the Anti-Gravity Gauntlet in his right hand to lift out the chunk of soil, slide in the body, and replace the earth.

He tried not to let the routine become mechanical.

Sure, they were Foot soldiers, and weird alien warriors who seemed to be made out of rock. Sure, they had been fighting for deranged masters who wanted to conquer the planet. But they had served their masters loyally, and given their lives in combat. On some level, Donatello could respect that. He could give the soldiers a decent burial, as he would want an enemy to do for him.

As he worked, he couldn't help thinking about his own body, lying uninhabited in Harold's lab. He was a casualty of this war too, and when he got home it would be time to bury himself.

Or maybe, he thought, not just yet.

The sun was sinking over the water as they interred the last fallen warrior, and Don looked out across the landscape: the dead bodies gone from view, the island instead dotted with low hills of earth, each casting a long shadow in the last of the evening light.

"No Shredder," Don said, after what seemed like a respectful interval of silence.

Honeycutt shook his head. "I am afraid my sensors detected no sign of him."

Don could sense the Professor watching his reaction closely. "I can't say I'm looking forward to breaking that news to Master Splinter," he said. "But… it is what it is. I'm sure we'll see him again, but I'm in no hurry to chase him down."

"Let us finish our work here, then," Honeycutt said, turning to begin the walk back towards the Technodrome. Its eye was glowing dull red, reflecting the crimson rays of the setting sun.

"No, hold on," Don said, and waited for Honeycutt to stop. "Remember how you told me any shortcomings of robotic bodies could be fixed with an upgrade?"

"Certainly."

Don glanced once more at the sunset, then turned east, towards the moonrise. "There's something I want you to do for me."


	10. v4,1

When the teleporter began to glow and whine, Harold got up from his work to see who was coming through.

He hadn't expected to find himself eye-to-eye with Metalhead's electronic gaze.

He looked Donatello up and down, as his labmate emerged fully from the portal. "What have you done to my robot?"

Without warning – typical behavior from the ninja - Don reached out and grabbed Harold by his lab coat lapels, yanking him close. "Let's get one thing straight. It's _my_ robot. Keep your hands off." He pushed the scientist away, hard enough to make him stumble as he tried to stay on his feet. "As I said to Professor Honeycutt when I asked him to help me put new legs on, I don't know why you made Metalhead so short, but I wasn't going to spend the rest of my life looking at people's –" An odd pause. "Stomachs."

"The rest of your life?" Harold spluttered, disregarding the end of that sentence. "And what do you intend to do with your body, which maybe you have forgotten is still taking up space in my lab?"

Don regarded him steadily. "Dissect it."

That brought Harold up short. "Excuse me?"

There was a strange glint in Donatello's LED eyes. "I've always wanted to know what's inside."

Harold would never convince anyone that he hadn't had the same thought many times since meeting Donatello, but now that the opportunity had arisen, he found himself strangely squeamish. "Well, I suppose you want to talk to your family about it first."

"Not really," Don replied. He glanced around the lab, then clenched a fist. "Let's do it right now. Before I lose my nerve."

* * *

He almost didn't flinch as Harold lowered the bone saw towards his plastron. For a moment he thought he was having one of those strange experiences of watching something horrible seem to happen in slow motion, and then he realized Harold was deliberately hesitating. Deliberately giving him a chance to change his mind.

"Just do it," Don snapped. "I'm not going back. The only value it has to me is as an anatomical specimen."

Dimly, he recognized that he was creating unhealthy psychological distance between himself and his former body, but he didn't care. Burial would provide him one form of closure; dissection another. Once his internal organs were laid out on the gleaming steel trays, there would be no more pretending he would ever be a Turtle again.

Tiny particles of bone clouded the air as Harold cut him open.

Inside, it looked much as he had always expected: a weird mix of terrapin and human. As they worked, they spoke into a recorder, just as any responsible medical examiner would.

"Heart is… three-chambered," Harold reported, as he examined that organ. "Located near midline. Anatomy otherwise human." He cut the muscle loose and placed it on the first tray.

In a similarly clinical tone, Don reported the positioning and dimensions of the lungs, then moved on to the digestive organs, liver, and kidneys. As he worked, he sensed the information being recorded into his digital memory, as effortlessly as he had learned about the Technodrome's fusion of Neutrino and Utrom technology.

He and Harold progressed through skeletal structure and musculature, excising samples for preservation and later study. Much of the body they left intact – even cosmetically repairing the fatal injuries – so there would be enough left for a traditional burial.

"Where _is_ Honeycutt, anyway?" Harold asked, as he turned off the recorder and began to close up the final incision.

"Ah…"

* * *

"I had not intended the term _shortcoming_ as a pun," Honeycutt commented, as he watched Donatello experiment with his newly-lengthened legs.

Don shrugged. "Either way. I wasn't going to spend the rest of my life staring at people's chests."

Honeycutt couldn't seem to respond to that.

" _Which isn't even an interesting area of anatomy to a Turtle_ ," Don clarified.

"As you say, Donatello."

Don would have rolled his eyes, if he could have. Instead, he made a mental note that his next upgrade should involve a more expressive face.

"Whenever you are ready to resume our work, I will be in the control room," Honeycutt said, and turned to head in that direction.

"I… I think I'm going to let you finish it," Don said. "It's time for me to go home."

Honeycutt nodded, understanding. "In that case, I will be in the control room… calibrating the teleporter."

"And… you?" Don asked.

Honeycutt gazed into the middle distance. "When I am done here… whatever _done_ means… it will be time for me to go home as well."

"Will I see you again?"

"Who knows?" Honeycutt replied, not unkindly. "The universe is a vast place, and yet it seems our fates are intertwined. I would not be surprised if our paths should cross, someday." He moved towards the door. "I will look forward to it, Donatello."

* * *

Don helped Harold prepare the body and pack the dissected organs in formaldehyde. It was strangely fascinating to see himself disassembled this way, just as he had taken apart his computer, many times before. Only this time, there was no putting it back together.

"I'll download the recording onto a flash drive for you," Harold said, when the lab was cleaned up.

"No need." Don tapped the side of his head. "It's all in here."

"Ah, of course." Harold seemed a little too pleased with this information. "Truly, the melding of my genius and yours is –"

"Harold, that's disgusting."

"Meh." The scientist made a dismissive gesture. "You just dissected your own body, and you call _my_ work disgusting?" He pressed a paper bag into Donatello's hands. "Well, here's what you wanted. Now get out of my lab."

"Ever the consummate host," Don grumbled, taking the package. "How could I _not_ feel completely at home in Metalhead."

"Ever the picture of gratitude," Harold snapped back. "After I spared your life, _saved_ your life, and allowed you to assist with my projects."

"I'm honored." Donatello pressed a hand to his chest, in a gesture of sincerity. "Truly."

Harold pointed to the door. " _Out._ "

Don went, smiling on the inside. Real friends help you hide the bodies, he'd heard it said – but friends who provide you a new body are in a class of their own.


	11. v4,2

When Donatello arrived back at the Lair, it was Raphael who first caught sight of him. Raph took his sudden return, and his increased height, in stride. He even greeted him with a compliment.

"You're looking good, bro," he said, ambling towards the door to meet his brother. "And you had time to go to Bloomingdale's." He nodded towards the parcel Don was carrying, with its upscale department store logo. "What's in the bag?"

Wordlessly, Don pulled out a glass jar filled with liquid.

Equally silently, Raph studied the jar and its contents. "Is that… your brain?"

Don nodded.

"You're keeping your own brain in a jar." Raph looked at his nerdy brother with new respect. "That is wicked, Don. Weird as hell. But wicked."

"Thank you, I guess," Don said, and then he made a suspiciously rapid exit towards his room.

He had gotten halfway across the floor before Raph began to put two and two together. "Wait a minute," he called, and a chill ran down his spine when Don didn't. "Donnie, why is your brain not in your body? Where –" He wasn't great at arithmetic, but at about this moment he arrived at an answer of four. "Oh. Don. Shit."

Don strode back to him and put a powerful metal hand over his mouth. "Don't say anything. Okay? I'll tell them later."

Raph found he couldn't break his brother's grip on his beak, but he said everything he needed to with his eyes.

"I promise, I will tell them tonight." Don sought the confirmation he needed in Raph's gaze, then let him go.

Raph was a Turtle of his word, but as his brother backed away, he said softly, "It's sick, Don."

"I know," Don replied. "But just imagine what Mikey would have done with the body parts, if it were him."

He left Raph with that mental image, and disappeared into his room.

* * *

True to his word, Don summoned the family together that evening for a talk.

"I have three things to tell you," he began, "and at least two of them you're not going to like."

"Start with the bad news, I suppose," Leo said.

"Okay." Don put his hands on the table, palms towards each other, bookending an empty space. He was getting much better at not acting like a robot. "I… I didn't come straight home from Harold's today. I had some things to take care of there first." He looked around at each of his brothers, at his father. "We turned off the life support machines. I watched myself die. I'm… not going back."

"You should not have done this without telling us, Donatello," Splinter said, after a pause – too gentle to be a reprimand, but the hurt in his voice was unmistakable.

"It wasn't your decision."

"Still, we would have liked to have been there." Splinter looked at his other sons, and they nodded in response.

"There was nothing to see," Don replied, holding his ground despite being outnumbered. "If it hadn't been for the monitors, I wouldn't even have known the difference."

"You mistake my point, Donatello." This time a harsher edge underlined Splinter's words.

Even at this, Don did not back down. "With all due respect, Sensei – you already watched all of us die, once. Why would you want to see that again?"

For a moment their eyes locked. Then Splinter reclined minutely in his seat. He did not speak, but his gaze made it clear that the subject was not closed.

"What's the second bad news?" Mike asked in a small voice.

Don re-centered himself before continuing. "The second bad news is that Honeycutt and I searched the island and couldn't find any trace of the Shredder."

"Meaning what?" Leo asked.

"Meaning he's still alive," Don said. "Unless someone recovered his remains, which Honeycutt and I think is unlikely."

"Any clue where he went?" Raph asked, but it was clear he didn't have high hopes for an affirmative answer.

Don shook his head. "Nothing. For now, we'll have to assume he's alive and well and rebuilding the Foot." He looked again at his father, and this time there was something apologetic in his gaze.

"I… am distressed to hear this," Splinter said, after a moment's careful consideration of his words. "I know the destruction of the Shredder was very important to you, my son. As it is to me."

"We had better be ready to meet him again," Don said. "When he realizes _I'm_ not dead, he's not going to be happy."

"Great," Leo deadpanned, as they all pondered that eventuality. "What's the _good_ news?"

"He didn't say there was good news," Raph pointed out. "He only said there was one thing we might not _not_ like."

"Well," Don said, "how do you feel about a super-weapon being out of commission?"

"Pretty good," Leo replied, "but tell me more."

"The Technodrome has been thoroughly re-programmed," Don said, and there was more than a hint of pride in his voice.

"Re-programmed?" Mike echoed. "That doesn't sound like _destroyed_. I definitely remember you using the word _destroy_ before you left."

"Honeycutt talked me out of it," Don said. "The Technodrome is… valuable. There's nothing else like it on Earth. Even stripped down for parts, it has immense technological potential."

Leo's expression tightened. "And how many of our enemies are itching to get their hands on it?"

"Probably a lot," Don replied. "But it's on a remote island with an unbreathable atmosphere, so they're going to have a tough time."

"It's not unbreathable to Krang," Leo said.

"Krang is in prison on another planet."

"Stockman has an army of expendable robots."

"Leo." Don put a hand over his brother's, reassuringly. "It's covered, okay? Trust me."

Leo's mouth twitched, but he let it go. "What did you re-program the Technodrome to do, anyway?"

Don sat back, looking very satisfied with himself. "Well… that's another story."


	12. v4,3

It was raining in the Sorachi district.

 _"_ _Sensei," Don had begun quietly. "Do you remember…"_

Splinter did, across the years and the miles and the unknown distance that only the soul could cross. It took them days of poring over maps to match his memories to the place. And now, here they were, standing in the rain and staring at a hole in the ground.

In more ways than one, it had been a long journey.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Leo had asked, as Don punched coordinates into the teleporter. Raph had gone ahead with Harold to look at the body, but Leo had already seen it in its near-death condition, and was in no rush to look again.

Don didn't answer at first, instead pressing more buttons on the teleporter's control pad. When the machine emitted a quick pair of beeps – some sort of confirmation of success, Leo supposed – Don half-turned to face him.

"I thought about it for a long time," Don murmured. "And then I thought – of course I know where I want to be buried. I want to be buried with my brothers."

Something spun uncomfortably in Leo's head, until he reassured himself that no, of course he was still alive. It took him another moment to understand what Don meant.

"I thought you didn't believe in reincarnation."

"New evidence has forced me to accept the theory," Don replied.

Leo shifted from foot to foot. He had thought he accepted the idea too, but now that he was running up against it in a less abstract form, nothing seemed to make sense. Somehow, contemplating his dead human self was harder than meeting his live human self when Renet had sent them travelling through time.

"Do you really think we're buried there?" he finally settled on asking.

"No."

"But… ?"

Don turned back to the teleporter's control panel, though Leo suspected he was more avoiding the question than doing any real work. "I think we were eaten by scavengers. Who would have buried us?"

It made a dismal kind of sense, and Leo didn't want to think about it anymore. Fortunately, just then Raph called him into the other room, and it was time to go.

* * *

Raph carried the body through the teleporter, with Leo.

If he looked closely, he could see the seam on the back of the scalp, where Don had cut his own head open to remove his brain. He had kind of thought Don should mention that, when he caught up the family on the bad news. But he hadn't, and Raph could tell that Leo wasn't noticing anything amiss.

He couldn't decide whether the body was lighter than it should have been, or whether it was only his imagination. How much had Don amputated? How much of their brother were they burying?

What did a soul weigh?

He told himself it wasn't important. What he was carrying was nothing more than meat and bone, nothing more than the blood they spilled in battle and the scutes they shed in spring, scratching and grumbling. All that mattered of Donatello was standing a few yards away, gazing over the rainy mountain range, probably running some esoteric calculations on how old the rocks were.

Don turned towards him, and Raph would have sworn a smile ghosted across his mechanical face.

He grunted at Leo, and they laid the body down on a patch of grass.

* * *

Splinter did not recognize the place, when he stepped through the portal onto the rocky slope. How could he? It had been over a hundred years since he had last laid eyes on it. Old trees had died and new ones had grown. Modern towns had sprouted on the flanks of the mountain. And the fires of Tokachi still burned; fresh lava flows had rearranged the terrain.

He could feel his sons' eyes on him as he walked back and forth. Though the details of the landscape were unfamiliar, the spirit of the mountain reached out to him. This was a place he had been, in another lifetime.

He listened to the echoes of the past. _There_ was the cave where he had taken refuge with his sons. _There_ had been the patch of bushes where he gathered berries, all that he could find to soothe his children's growling stomachs. And _there_ was the place where he had pleaded with Saki, and known no more, until suddenly he was looking at the world through the eyes of a rat.

They were in the right place.

He nodded to his sons, and they moved forward to begin the ritual.

* * *

Not that Mike really knew how to behave at a funeral, but he certainly didn't know how to behave at a funeral for someone who wasn't dead.

He had helped dig a hole, through mud and gravel and some type of heavy, dark soil. He had helped lower Don's body into the earth, arranging it into a comfortable position. He had listened to Splinter recite the prayers, knowing he was the only one of his brothers who understood the Japanese words. And then he had helped to replace the dirt and rocks and clumps of grass, carefully disguising the grave. The mountain was remote, but the last thing they needed was some hiker stumbling across a half-decomposed mutant and causing an international scientific incident.

When they were done, it looked as though nothing had happened – except, of course, that there was a robot standing where Donatello should have been.

"I can call Harold to bring us back whenever we're ready," the robot with Don's mask said, and then, without quite saying that he _wasn't_ ready, he moved away down the mountain.

Mike went in the opposite direction, because when you found yourself on a mountain in Japan, standing on the summit seemed like the thing to do. There was nothing to see from up there, though; the clouds hung heavy from one horizon to the other.

After a while Mike went back down to find his brother. Don was sitting on a boulder, gazing at the line of mountains that marched timelessly to the end of the world.

"Hey."

Don looked down at him. "Hey."

Mike leaned his shell against the boulder, looking in the opposite direction. "Can I ask you something?"

"Mm?"

Mike hesitated, sensing that something irrevocable might happen if he got an answer. "Are – Are you immortal now?"

Don's reply was surprisingly quick, surprisingly calm. "I think we all are."

Mike hadn't been prepared for that. "Uh?"

"Honeycutt told me once… every time we go through a portal, our bodies are completely destroyed. But our souls come out the other end just fine. And not just us, I mean, everyone…" He paused until Mike looked up at him. "No one can explain it. Not the Neutrinos, not the Utroms, and certainly no one on Earth. But there it is."

"So even if we die," Mike said, feeling his way through this new idea, "we'll still basically be us? Forever?"

"You are my annoying little brother," Don confirmed. "Until the end of time."

"Wow," Mike said. "You get to enjoy my charming presence for all eternity. You are one lucky guy, Robo-bro."

Don seemed to think the nickname was fine, and Mike got the feeling it always would be, from now on.


End file.
